


Show[time] Me the Mullet

by toewsyourheart



Series: Work Song [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Make-outs, Mullet Talk, Playoffs, Silly Interviews, Teasing, curls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Round Fluff: after Jonny's interview yesterday, before the flight to Nashville.<br/>Features the mullet and making out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show[time] Me the Mullet

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in the 'Work Song' verse. Current events, established relationship AU. 
> 
> just a casual moment in the clusterfuck that is the playoffs.

“I couldn’t tell who that little guy was at his waist there. I’m sure he gave it a good effort, but I doubt he had enough energy, on a good day, to lift that guy,” Jonny chuckles, and all the reporters follow suit, laughing at Jonny’s dumb jokes as always. 

From his place off to the side, Patrick finds himself snickering too as he listens on, even though Jonny’s _not_ that funny. 

“Ahh, okay,” he murmurs to himself, amused, fondness swelling in his chest. Little guy, eh? Well, Patrick will show him _little_ and, most importantly, he _could so_ lift Seabs on a good day. Maybe. 

Patrick gets distracted just thinking about the win again, can almost feel his adrenaline pumping still…Jesus, playoff hockey is the shit he lives for, and _triple overtime_?! He simply can’t be held responsible for his actions at that point. 

The game was _finally_ over, and Seabs had put it in the net—a fucking bomb—off a pass from _his_ stick, to put them up _3-1_ in the series. So he was excited, absolutely flooded with relief, and it had him hyped enough to try and lift Seabs in the heat of the moment, whatever. 

Patrick can hear the satisfaction in Jonny’s voice as he finishes up his interview. He knows Patrick’s listening off to the side, so he’s got his chirpy pants on nice and tight (his _actual_ pants are nice and tight too). And he thinks he’s sooo funny. 

Patrick spends the next minute or two planning his mode of retaliation, not willing to leave this matter unattended. They’re flying out to Nashville soon, so he’s going to have to make it quick, jump him in the training room for a rough make out or something. Nothing elaborate—just gotta let Jonny know that, yes, he _heard_ him, and lay down the law a little. 

Jonny rounds the corner then, mouth pulling up in a smug grin as soon as he sees Patrick. God, he looks so good in that fucking suit. Patrick watched him get dressed this morning (after literally having to trick him out of bed by putting his coffee out of reach), and has been with him all day since, but the sight never gets old. 

Patrick licks his lips, doesn’t even try to hide that fact that he’s hardcore checking Jonny out, and smiles back innocently, in a way that says ‘no, Jonny, I’m definitely not about to shove you into a closet or anything.’ 

“Ready?” Jonny asks, wrapping an arm affectionately around Patrick’s neck for a second as he leads them down the hallway.

“Yep,” Patrick replies, ducking out from under him to walk in front so he can keep his eyes open for the perfect room and moment to strike. 

“What’s your hurry?” Jonny teases. “Got those little legs movin’ pretty fast there.” 

Patrick scoffs and turns around, walking backwards so see he can see Jonny. “You just keep on with that,” he says challengingly, pointing at him. “Maybe _you_ just can’t keep up.” 

“Oh, no?” Jonny grins, nonchalant, but then he eyes Patrick and his brow furrows, concern flashing across his face. 

“C’mon, be careful. Don’t trip and fall or anything,” Jonny mumbles, reaching out a little, forever worried about Patrick’s safety ( _especially_ since the injury), even if he _is_ just walking backwards for Christ’s sake. Not like Patrick’s a professional athlete or anything…But it’s endearing just the same, sincere—so ridiculous and so _Jonny_. 

“I think I’m fine, Jon,” Patrick says, lovingly defiant, but turns around and walks right anyway, just for Jonny’s peace of mind. Then Patrick spies the meeting room coming up on left and decides to give it a shot, knowing if he just walks in there, Jonny will probably follow him. 

He strides over and tries the door—unlocked! yes!—and ducks in. It’s dark, and there’s a huge conference table in the middle of the room. Perfect for his current purposes. 

“What’re you doi—” Jonny starts, sticking his head through the doorway, and then Patrick grabs him by the lapels of his suit and drags him all the way in, pressing him up against the wall and shutting the door behind them. 

“Hi,” Patrick says, molding himself to Jonny’s body. He tugs down on his jacket, pulls him close enough to rub their noses together. 

“Hi yourself,” Jonny replies, strong hands gripped tightly on Patrick’s hips. “What’re we doing in here?” he asks curiously, running his nose and face along Patrick’s cheekbones, lips catching here and there, breathing him in. Feels good—even the scratch of his playoff stubble is doing it for Patrick right now, honestly. 

Patrick grabs Jonny by the back of his neck and kisses him softly. “I dunno,” he murmurs, tugging lightly on Jonny’s bottom lip with his teeth. “C’mere.” 

He pulls Jonny away from the wall and starts to shuffle him over toward the table as they lazily make out, just a slow, familiar drag of their lips. Patrick can feel the smile on Jonny’s mouth, probably skeptical of Patrick’s motives here, but he can also feel his dick starting to chub up through those tight ass suit pants, so it’s clearly not _all_ fun and games. 

Patrick runs his hands down Jonny’s chest then around to grab two handfuls of his ass, practically Patrick’s favorite thing. Jonny groans into his mouth and wraps his arms around Patrick’s neck, pressing a hand into the middle of his back to pull Patrick flush to his chest. He can feel Jonny starting to relax now, really get into it, which means… _showtime_. 

Patrick halts their advance toward the table and hunches down slightly, lets his hands drift to the crease between Jonny’s ass and the back of his thighs, so he can lift Jonny up off the floor. He gasps quietly against Patrick’s mouth, and then he helpfully wraps his legs around Patrick’s waist, not breaking the kiss just yet, squeezing the back of his neck, fingers playing in the curls at his nape. 

Then he chuckles a little and pulls back. “Lifting me and lifting Seabs are two very different things,” he murmurs against the corner of Patrick’s mouth, placing a chaste kiss there after.

“You’re right,” Patrick breathes out. “Don’t need to be able to do _this_ with Brent, I don’t think,” he says, punctuating his words with another firm squeeze to the back of Jonny’s thighs where he’s holding onto him, and Jonny reciprocates by tightening his legs around him, pressing his now hard _er_ erection into Patrick. 

He starts walking them back toward the table again and sets Jonny down on top, settling between his legs, crowding in close. 

Jonny raises an eyebrow at him from atop the table, looking down with a fondness he reserves only for Patrick, eyes light with amusement. “Well, what’s your plan now that you’ve got me up here?” 

Patrick runs his hands up and down Jonny’s thighs, feels the stretch of his suit pants working hard to contain all Jonny’s working with here. He lets his hands drift in between Jonny’s legs, grazing his fingers over the outline of his stiffening dick, and Jonny hisses, gives Patrick’s hair a quick pull. 

He’s so fucking hot, and Patrick can think of a million things he wants to do to him, certainly. But right now they don’t have time for any of it, so Patrick pulls him down for another kiss, content with just getting Jonny good and worked up before they have to fly out, maybe sending him out of here with an unchecked hard-on. That would be fun—would really make for an interesting hotel stay tonight. 

Patrick licks into his mouth, and Jonny groans, opening up for him, and rests his hands on Patrick’s face. Then he starts to scratch his nails back and forth through Patrick’s racing stripes, one of the most crucial features of the mullet, just letting his fingers trail over them lightly before scratching through again. Feels fucking fantastic—that soft touch on sensitive skin coupled with the filthy drag of Jonny’s mouth against his; it makes Patrick shiver. Then he sinks his hands into Patrick’s curls, scratching up the back of his head now, and Patrick moans a little. God, feels good…

Then he pulls back and grins smugly, realizing a trend here…Jonny’s been _extra_ handsy with the mullet ever since he got it cut, throwing little to no chirps his direction about it. He’s actually woken up a couple times recently with Jonny’s fingers tangled in his hair. He’s definitely not complaining, but it usually doesn’t get _this_ much attention from Jonny, so that’s got _his_ attention. 

“What?” Jonny breathes out, sounding grumpy about the stoppage in kissing, and it makes Patrick grin even wider. 

“You’re really into the mullet this year, Jon,” Patrick remarks. 

“Oh, I am not,” Jonny replies, voice rising a little like it does when he’s feeling bashful. 

“You _are_. You can’t keep your hands out of it,” Patrick teases, leaning back in to nuzzle along Jonny’s neck and chest. Those goddamn top three buttons are undone, giving him plenty of access.

“You know I like your curls,” Jonny whispers, tugging on them again. 

“Yeah, but you were fondling the stripes, Jonathan. Just admit it,” Patrick mumbles against his skin, voice thick with amusement. He lets his teeth scrape against Jonny’s neck, then presses a wet kiss to the base of his throat. “You can. I won’t tell anybody.” 

“It’s not the—you know I think the mullet is ridiculous, Patrick. I guess I just…” He trails off, like the words are stuck, and Patrick leans up to look at him, and he’s got his eyes lowered—like his head’s somewhere else now. 

“Hey, what?” Patrick says, comfortingly rubbing his hands up and down Jonny’s thighs, bringing them to rest on his hips. They’re supposed to be having fun in here, not getting all somber and shit. 

Jonny takes Patrick’s face in his hands again, and his eyes soften. “It’s not the mullet—it’s what the mullet _means,_ I guess,” he half-explains. 

“And what’s that?” Patrick prompts, grinning shyly. 

“That you’re back,” he shrugs, running his thumbs along the stripes. “I had made my peace with twelve weeks, Pat. But you exceeded everyone’s expectations, as always, and you’re back and we’re _winning_ ,” he says, voice raw with emotion—excitement, pride..love. He clears his throat and goes on, “And so I can’t keep my hands off the stupid mullet—there, I said it…you like it anyway.” 

“I really do,” Patrick says, ducking his head into Jonny’s chest. He burrows himself inside his jacket, wraps his arms tightly around his waist. “You can play with my mullet anytime you want, baby. No shame.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Jonny chuckles out and tightens his arms around Patrick, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair. 

“You’re suck a fucking sap,” Patrick teases. “I was _supposed_ to be showing you who’s boss in here and you got me all sentimental instead.” 

“We already know who’s boss,” Jonny says, matter of fact. 

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, “ _Me_ ,” just as Jonny’s also saying “ _Me._ ” 

They both laugh, and Patrick takes a second to bask in how fucking good he feels just being alone with Jonny like this…relaxed and easy, safe and loved. 

Jonny grabs Patrick’s shoulders and hauls him up, pressing a kiss to his mouth then pulling back to brush their lips together. “Not too late for you to fight me for it, if you want.” 

Patrick reaches down between Jonny’s legs to grab his dick, and murmurs against his mouth, “Save it for the plane,” grinning widely afterward, knowing how Jonny will react after _last_ time. 

Jonny groans and smacks his shoulder then squeezes his thighs together, stilling the little stroke Patrick was starting up. “Not the fucking _plane_ —Shawzy _still_ won’t shut up about that, and it’s been over two weeks.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who wouldn’t be quiet,” Patrick points out, pulling his hand free and backing up, giving Jonny space to get down off the table. 

“You went to your knees for me in an airplane bathroom,” Jonny says, stepping into Patrick’s space, his mouth right up to his ear, so close Patrick can feel him breathing—it tickles. “With the whole fucking team right outside. Did you really expect me to be _quiet_?” he asks, voice low, filthy, and suddenly Patrick’s feeling like _he_ might be the one leaving this room with an unchecked hard-on. 

And sometimes Patrick thinks Jonny can _actually_ read his mind, because at that very moment he reaches down and runs his hand between Patrick’s legs, fingers drumming along the half-chub he’s sporting.  

“Jesus, okay, you win,” Patrick relents, kissing him again, just once more, and batting his hand away, then he steps back to adjust himself. “ _For now_ —you’re lucky we gotta go. Be ready to pick this up at the hotel.” 

“I look forward to defending my title,” Jonny says easily, the smug bastard, and Patrick just slaps his ass, shaking his head as Jonny leads them out of the conference room…

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope this cushions the blow of the game 5 loss for everyone. written late, mistakes are all me.
> 
> Feedback welcome & appreciated! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr @ [toewsme88](http://toewsme1988.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


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